Set the Night on Fire (31 page)

“
T
hey weren’t all like Eichmann, even if they were SS.”

Lila couldn’t help eavesdropping on the couple in the next booth at Denny’s that night. The woman was trying to convince her partner that not all Nazis were evil and was touting a film called
Black Book
as proof. Lila could empathize; she’d seen the film at an art house in New York.

“What’s our next step?” Cece slipped a napkin into her lap. “How do we deal with Teddy?”

Lila forced herself back.

Dar propped his elbow on the table and rubbed his temples. “It won’t be easy. We can’t call. He won’t take the call.”

“And you can’t show up at one of his campaign appearances,” Cece added. “You’d never get through security.”

A young African-American waitress wearing soft-soled shoes came over to their table. Her hair was braided in cornrows. “Take your order?” she asked.

Dar ordered meatloaf with the soup of the day, Cece a chicken Caesar salad. Lila, remembering the smells in Hesky’s kitchen, ordered pancakes and a side of bacon. The waitress collected their menus and retreated. Lila waited until she was out of earshot. “We need to make him come to us.”

“How?” Dar asked.

She leaned forward. “We may not have to do anything. His people are probably still out there, which means he must know I’ve been ‘out and about.’ He may even know I’ve been introducing myself as Sebastian Kerr’s granddaughter. Hell, I’ll bet it’s driving him crazy.”

“Driving him crazy and getting him to come to us aren’t the same things,” Cece said.

Dar threw up his hand. “Stop. Both of you. This is exactly what I didn’t want.”

“What?” Lila said.

“I don’t want you involved. It’s too risky. His people will get to you. Maybe they’ll pump you first. But then they’ll make sure you have an ‘accident’ just like Rain. And Casey. And Payton.”

“You’re forgetting something,” Lila said.

“What?”

“The VIN. If the blood sample matches Teddy’s DNA, it implicates him in the bombing. And changes everything.”

“We need to stay alive until that happens.”

Their drinks came, along with split pea soup for Dar. It looked so thick a spoon could probably stand up in it. Lila watched him ladle it into his mouth. The couple in the next booth blathered on about the Holocaust.

“Know thy enemy,” the woman was saying. “That’s what she did. Went right into the belly of the beast. Do you realize how much guts that takes?”

Dar’s head tilted, as if he was listening to their conversation. A moment later he put down his spoon. “I have an idea.”

“About what?” Lila asked.

“About how to get Teddy to come to us.”

* *

The sunset was a red smudge in the western sky by the time they arrived in Madison the next evening. It had been a quiet trip, Dar, for the most part, lost in thought, rehearsing what to say to Judge Stephen Markham, Teddy’s father.

Cece got directions when they stopped for gas, and a few minutes later they passed through a wooded area and parked across the road from the Markhams’ multi-level redwood and glass home on the shore of Madison’s Lake Monona.

Cece whistled. “Pretty high end.”

Dar thought the house looked smaller than it had forty years ago. And shabbier. The redwood needed a coat of stain, the glass windows a good cleaning. Still, it was imposing. Which, of course, was the point.

There was another difference, he thought as he surveyed the house. Forty years ago you could walk across the back lawn, all the way down to the lake. He remembered doing that with Casey and Payton while Teddy talked to his father. Now, though, a fence prevented access to the back. He pointed to it. “This is new.”

“I thought Secret Service protection didn’t kick in until after the election,” Cece said.

“I suspect he’s got private help,” Dar said. “Stephen Markham is an old man. I doubt he can manage the place on his own.”

Cece nodded. Lila didn’t say anything.

Dar slipped his hands in his pockets. “Okay, here’s the plan. I’m going to go up to the front door and announce myself. I think I’ll get in. It doesn’t look like an armed fortress.”

“Then what?” Lila asked.

“I’ll feel Markham out. See how far he’s willing to go.”

“He’s not going to pick up the phone and call Teddy just because you want him to.”

“Probably not. But as soon as I leave, you can bet he will.”

“What’s that going to do for us?” Lila asked.

“I’m prepared to tell them about the VIN. If Teddy knows we have it and we’re willing to release it to . . . say . . . the
New York Times
 . . . it might . . . open up negotiations.”

“And if it doesn’t?”

“Then we’re no worse off than we were. At least Teddy will know we mean business. That we’re not going to keep quiet any more.”

“But
we
will be worse off,” Lila argued. “They’ll know where we are. And come after us.” She shook her head. “It might be the right thing to do, but it’s too risky. If you go in, I go too.”

“No.”

Lila drew herself up. “This is not the time to be stubborn. You need backup.”

“I’m only going in to talk to the man. Which I can do on my own.” He made his voice stern. “Lila, this is my business. Not yours. You stay here.”

She blinked.

“If I don’t come out in twenty minutes,” he went on, “you and Cece drive like hell back to Benny’s with the VIN plate. And if you don’t hear from me within twenty-four hours, tell the world.”

* *

As Dar trudged to the front door, he remembered how Markham had patronized him forty years ago, in an effort to prove how little he knew about the history of class struggles. Dar had to remind himself that Stephen Markham was only a means to an end, the end being Teddy. He squared his shoulders and rang the bell. A perversely cheerful series of notes echoed inside.

The man who opened the door was squat and burly with a shaved head and a trimmed goatee. If he’d been taller and had an earring, he’d look like Mr. Clean. He kept one hand on the door, and the other on the doorjamb, while he looked Dar up and down. Something came into his eyes, something that said he could take Dar, if it came to that.

Dar nodded. “I’d like to speak to Mr. Markham.”

“What about?”

“I’m an old friend of Teddy’s.”

The bodyguard squinted. “Name?”

Dar told him. Mr. Clean closed the door. It stayed closed so long that Dar thought he’d been refused admittance. Then it opened.

“He’ll see you for five minutes,” the bodyguard said coolly, but there was something new in his eyes. Caution. “But first I search you.”

Dar hesitated, then nodded and stepped inside. While Mr. Clean frisked him, Dar’s memories of the place resurfaced—the marble floor tiles, the windows overlooking the lake. He recalled the chatty black housekeeper who’d cooked fried chicken for them so long ago. She was probably dead now. For some reason that made him sad.

Mr. Clean led him down the hall to Markham’s study. Inside, the light was dim, but it looked the same as before: heavy drapes, dark wood, oil paintings of ships at sea. There were two additions. On one side of the desk was a flat screen monitor, and on the other was a panel of about twelve buttons. Command Central.

The sour smell of old man permeated the room, and Dar could see that Stephen Markham had aged badly. His hair was colorless and wiry. Folds of skin flapped below his jaws as if the air had been let out of his face. Instead of a swivel chair, Markham now sat in a wheelchair. Only his eyes were the same, reflecting the intelligence Dar remembered. And the arrogance.

The eyes narrowed. “I’ve been expecting you. You’ll have been out . . . what . . . about six weeks?”

Dar shouldn’t have been surprised—he’d tried to anticipate what the man would say. Still, his stomach fluttered. With one sentence Markham had put him on the defensive. How did he know when Dar was released? What else did he know? Thank God Lila was safe outside. He motioned toward Mr. Clean who’d stationed himself near the door, hands behind, feet spread. The ready position. Like a prison guard. “This is a private conversation.”

Markham glanced at his bodyguard, who shook his head. Surprisingly Markham overruled him. “You can leave, David. But stay close.”

The bodyguard raised his eyebrows but did as Markham ordered, closing the door behind him.

Markham turned to Dar. “Now, what can I do for you?”

“I want you to call Teddy.”

A tiny smile crossed Markham’s lips. “Why would I do that?”

“We need to talk.”

Markham steepled his fingers. “About what?”

Dar hesitated. His differences were with Teddy, not his father. Still, at this point, what did it matter if the father knew? “I have proof of Teddy’s complicity in the bombing at Kerr’s department store.”

Markham went still for a moment. Then he cackled. Dar felt his cheeks get hot.

“You were always the smart one,” Markham said. “Smart, but not shrewd.” He waved a dismissive hand.

“What do you mean?”

“I knew at some point that one of you would claim to have evidence of Teddy’s participation. And I’m confident I know what it is. Let me show you something.”  Markham picked up a remote from the desk and aimed it at the flat screen TV mounted on the wall.

Dar frowned.

Suddenly light flooded in through the window. “David!” Markham yelled.

The door opened and Mr. Clean hurried back in. Seeing the light, he ran to the window, opened the drapes, and peered out.

“What is it?” Markham asked.

The bodyguard shook his head. “Can’t see anything.” He closed the drapes and turned around. “Probably a rabbit.”

“Damn system’s too sensitive. Can’t you fiddle with it? I don’t need the goddamned lights and alarms going off every five minutes.”

“I’ll look into it, sir.”

“Have Max do it.”

“I will, when he gets back.”

“Where is he? Teddy’s people wanted two of you here at all times.”

“He’s with his brother. A personal matter.”

“Well, get him back.” Markham sighed. “All this new-fangled security and things still don’t work.” He gestured, the remote in his hand. “You can go.”

After he was gone, Markham pushed more buttons. “Watch,” he said to Dar.

The television lit up and a few bars scrolled diagonally. The picture settled on a video of Teddy at a campaign rally. He looked good: his temples had just enough gray, he was fit and tan. His smile was at full wattage as a man with a ten-gallon hat introduced him on camera.

Teddy stood beside the speaker, arranging the cuffs of his shirt so they extended just beyond his jacket. His hands fell to his sides, but then he raised his left hand and jiggled it, just the way he’d done forty years ago when he wore his ID bracelet.

Dar stared at the screen. Teddy’s wrist was bare, but he still had the habit. Dar turned to Markham, who’d been watching him watch Teddy.

“I believe the evidence you’re talking about concerns the ID bracelet Teddy owned. You lived with Teddy. You knew he wore it all the time, and you knew he didn’t have it after the bomb. He probably told you he lost it.”

He had, Dar recalled. In fact, Teddy had been obsessed with finding it. He and Payton had to restrain Teddy from sneaking back to the rubble to look for it.

Markham clicked the remote and the screen went dark.

“It’s curious you bring up the bracelet, Judge. It almost sounds like you know what happened to it.”

Markham’s eyes went cold, as if Dar had scored an unexpected point. “There’s not much about Teddy’s career I don’t know.”

All at once Dar knew why he felt so uneasy in Markham’s presence. Stephen Markham was the power behind his son. He was the one orchestrating events. “You . . . ,” Dar said, “you set me up. Not Teddy.”

“Teddy needs guidance. Always has.”

Dar put it together. “The summer we lived together . . . Rain thought Teddy was an informer. She was right. You made it happen.”

“One needs to protect one’s children. You can understand that,” Markham said. “Well, I believe your five minutes are up. If there’s nothing else . . . ”

Dar realized he couldn’t tell Markham about the VIN now; he’d be giving up his only leverage. Better to let Markham think the evidence he’d referred to was the bracelet and get out. “It’s clear that you’ve been controlling events for years. I salute you.”

Markham tilted his head. “Maybe you are shrewder than I thought.”

“Tell me something, Judge. Why didn’t you have me killed in prison? You could have ‘arranged’ it. Like the others,” he added.

Markham surprised him. “Now, why would I do something like that? There was no need for that. I fear you’ve picked up a healthy dose of paranoia, my friend. They say that can happen in prison.”